heave and the hue of the woman on fire
by A.j
Summary: Five places Tony and Pepper never had sex. Except they totally did.
1. The supply closet

Title: the heave and the hue of the woman on fire (1/5)  
Author: A.j.  
Spoilers: General _Iron Man_ mythology and that Pepper Potts exists.  
Notes: Huge thanks to besyd and 4persephone for the beta work. This is, for all intents and purposes, Five Places Tony and Pepper Never Had Sex. This one is AU from all Iron Man canon. Title is from "Forget Myself" by Elbow. Which. I've listened to entirely too much.

* * *

1. Supply closet.

Pepper always seems to be laughing when they do this. It's one of the things - and there are many - that he loves about being with her. Watching her eyes light up and her head go back in a belly laugh that's rich and warm and makes him lose his sanity just a little bit more every day.

"Mmmm, you are in a good mood today." She's grinning against his cheek and scratching her fingernails in the hair at the base of his neck. It feels amazing and he lets himself shiver, grin into the curve of her jaw and inch her practical work skirt a bit further north of her knees.

"I've had a good day so far." He skims his stubble along her neck, humming happily as she shivers and gives a soft moan. He's been awake and trying to debug the newest desalinization schematics and test model for the last thirty-something hours. Shaving, much like eating and sleeping, hasn't been a priority. But it's been worth it. Partially because the test model is currently chugging away three doors down, but mostly because he _knows_ how much she likes the gentle scratching of his beard. "Getting better by the second."

She's laughing again, tugging the wilted button-down and undershirt out of his pants so she can get to bare skin. Her small hands are warm and strong and he rewards her with a kiss that's wet and dirty in all the best ways.

"Did you figure the problem out?" She sighs as he runs his hands up her thighs, finally hitting the bare skin just above her stockings.

"Mmm. Just before you came down here." He smiles into the shivers caused by her nipping his ear and leans back to look her over. Her hair is up in a bun and her freckles are extra visible because it's summer and they were outside last weekend. Sun is shining through the small window in the corner of the supply closet – _their_ supply closet – and he's a little stunned at how lovely she looks.

Her smile is broad and pretty as she runs a hand across his jaw. "I'm glad. Especially if it makes you this happy."

He laughs and leans in to kiss her deep and long, settling himself between her spread thighs and just _rocking_ a little. When he finally pulls away, he doesn't go far, just watches her until her cheeks pink up and she gets a bit flustered. "What?"

"Come with me this weekend." He leans in, nips at her lower lip, but keeps his eyes trained on hers. "Back to my parents. They want to meet you."

She blinks, sobering a little. "Tony..."

"No, Pepper." He leans back, strokes the line of her cheekbone. "They do."

"But your father is my _boss_..."

He smiles, just a little, before cutting her off. "Funny, he's mine too."

"I don't know-" And she's watching him like a bomb that's about to go off if she's not careful.

Which, y'know. Ironic.

"Come? Please?" And he puts everything he can into it. Rubs his hands up and down her sides, watching her from underneath his lashes. "You're important to me. They know that."

She bites her lip in nearly the same place he did and really, that's entirely unfair. Still, she sees something she likes because in the next instant she's kissing him again. Her hands back in his hair and doing everything she can just to draw him into herself, even through the layers of clothing still between them.

When she finally pulls back, they're both panting and his palms are wet and itchy with needing to be on more of her. "Okay," she whispers and kisses him again. "Okay."

He grins at her, wide and open, and dives into her again. Slips his hands to the buttons of her blouse, fumbling a bit with the first two, and getting distracted by the skin of her torso. She has a bit more luck, and his dress shirt is off and gone and she's hiking up his undershirt and sucking on his tongue like she wants _all_ of him inside of her right then.

"When-" he gasps, moaning a little when she finally breaks the kiss. "When do you have to be back in accounting?"

Because he knows how seriously she takes her job and how much she loves it. It's one of the reasons they'd got on so well that very first time they'd met in the lunch room. She'd been scrawling out stats and business models across a legal pad when he'd walked by, brain-deep in a set of calculations for a project, and corrected her math. She'd rolled her eyes, yanked him down in the other seat so he wouldn't spill his chili all over, and pointed out a list of variables he hadn't noticed.

They'd spent the rest of the meal talking math and grinning at each other like idiots. He'd asked her to dinner, and now, a year later, they still have lunch together whenever possible.

"Mmm, silly man." She's back at his ear, alternating between sucking, laving, and nipping, and he lets himself groan into her shoulder because if she keeps that up, he's going to be a puddle on the floor. "It's six-thirty. We're done for the day."

"Thank god," he growls and gives up on the buttons. One quick yank and she's down to her bra. Her hands are on his belt, but he only notices because their arms tangle as he reaches down to pull up her skirt.

"Ack!" She squeaks, and starts to giggle. He just grins and reaches for the clasp of her bra. His pants hit the floor, weighted down by his belt and the palm pilot in his pocket. He pays zero attention because his hands are back on her skirt, pushing it – _finally_ - up to her waist. He goes back to her mouth, kissing her through their smiles. She responds by shoving his boxers down and off, pumping him quickly and leaving him with a gentle squeeze to the head of his cock.

He really can't help but push her back, hard, against the stable metal shelves, groaning into her neck and doing his level best to grope her underwear off.

Lucky for him, Pepper thinks ahead. They're already gone.

"Jesus," he hisses, encountering nothing but slick, hot skin. "_Tell_ me you weren't like this all day."

"Sorry to-_gnh_ burst your bubble, genius boy." She throws one thigh over his hip and drags him closer, opening herself up wide. "Mmmm. Took 'em off in the bathroom just now."

"Thank god," he mumbles and tilts her upper body back so he can play. She's hot and wet under his fingers, moreso than he's expecting, and it's not long before her hips are rocking in time with his strokes.

"Tony," her whisper is harsh in the close air of the closet, thready and high, and he knows that she's ready. Shifts her hips again, tilts them forward so he can push inside. He thanks god and most of the heavens that she has a fetish for ridiculously high heels, because this position is damn near impossible without them.

He likes watching her face as he enters her and does it whenever he can. The flush and heat that spill across her cheeks and chest and the way she bites her lip and whines a little, under her breath as he sinks that much deeper into her.

Her eyes blink open when he hits bottom, wide and blue and so, very, very lovely.

"I love you," he tells her, heart in his eyes.

She smiles at him, wide and open and perfect. "I love you too. Now get moving, Stark."

And then _he's_ laughing and giving her exactly what she wants.


	2. The back of the limo

Title: the heave and the hue of the woman on fire (2/5)  
Author: A.j.  
Spoilers: General _Iron Man_ mythology and that Pepper Potts exists.  
Notes: Huge thanks to besyd and 4persephone for the beta work. This is, for all intents and purposes, Five Places Tony and Pepper Never Had Sex. AU to the movieverse... maybe. smirks

* * *

2. Back of the limo.

Tony knows exactly three things about the woman in his lap. She's a natural redhead, she has a dirtier mouth than he does, and she could easily win a kegel marathon. All in all, he's pretty turned on.

Which is convenient given that he's balls-deep inside her, working like a race-horse to keep up.

"Fuck..." he's hissing because she's doing a figure-eight with her hips and just _clamping down_ when she hits the center twist.

"Mmm, that's what we're doing," she hums in his ear and does the dirtiest thing he's ever imagined with her teeth and tongue and the cartilage on his lobe. Pushing through the hot, shivery feeling that's just shot straight down his body, he makes an executive decision that as _soon_ as he's got her on her back on the other bench seat, he's going to attempt that exact thing on her clit. Until his tongue gives out. Or she dies. Y'know. Whichever.

His hands feel huge on her slim hips, wrapped around them and, up until this point, steadying more than guiding. It's rare that he finds a partner _this_ experienced or this enthusiastic, and he's been mostly enjoying the ride. But really, where's the fun in the toy if you don't actually _play_ with it?

He follows the next twist of her hips with his own, bracing against the floor and pushing up until they're suspended over the seat. It's not a position that he can maintain indefinitely, but it's enough for deeper penetration and her eyes roll back in her head a little as he _grinds_ up and pulls her forward, hard, onto his pubic bone.

Her moan is high and reedy, and when she opens those big blue, heavily dilated eyes, they're full of wonder and naughtiness.

"That's right," he grunts and adapts her hip twist.

"You _are_ a clever boy," she gasps and runs a hand down his side, across his flank, and back to his ass. She's got easy access now, and it's with no surprise that he feels her rubbing behind his balls, nails gentle, and _fuck_.

"You are _evil_."

She just smirks down at him, neck arched and graceful in the passing street lights outside. "All the boys say that."

He met her at the party. Tony's a little fuzzy on _which_ party as it was the third or sixth of the evening - and the fourth or tenth whiskey - but she'd been at the party. All long legs and graceful lines, she'd exuded class in ways his strung-out mind couldn't really process outside of a slight gibbering; someone out of another age, he'd thought fancifully. Okay, no, he'd thought she'd had an amazing pair of legs and he's pretty sure that the first thing he said to her was "Those shoes would look amazing digging in to the backs of my thighs."

Luckily for him and his dick, she'd taken one long, slow, incredibly lusty, head-to-toe scan and agreed with him.

At least, he's pretty sure she did. After all, he's currently sucking on the curve of her neck and playing the role of pornographic bouncy castle. Still, he is pretty high and a few curves past 'drunk', so.

She's back to moaning over him and raking his chest up and down with those nails. His thighs are burning and he can't actually _touch_ her because that would mean losing all mobility in his hips - that's it, he's _so_ installing a sex swing in the back of the limo tomorrow - but good, fucking Christ, she's squeezing his dick like a fucking milking machine and _she hasn't even come yet_.

"Where did you even come from, and-" he grunts, lowering himself back to the seat so he can touch those breasts that are _just_ in front of him. "Can I keep you?"

She giggles at him and braces her hands against his shoulders before doing another figure eight and _clench_ that leaves him seeing stars and groping for her clit. "You couldn't keep up with me," she purrs before biting his shoulder.

Goddamn, she might even be right because he's making noises that he hasn't heard out of his own mouth since he was twenty and spent three rather interesting weeks in a brothel in Venice.

Damn, that had been fun. He needs to remember to schedule another one of those trips sometime in the near future.

"_Fuck_," he hisses, doing his level best to run through the first ninety decimals in Pi. He can _do_ this because it's suddenly become a competition and if there's one thing he knows down to his bones, it's that he can't go down without a fight.

With a grunt, a bit of forward momentum, and a controlled shove, she's off him and on the other bench seat, spread out like a debauched present, open and flushed with her dress scrunched around her waist and _dear god_, attempting to do the splits.

"Mmm," she works her lips over her teeth and in the minimal lighting of the limo, her eyes are almost black.

Of course he goes face-first into her pussy. Like there's _anything else_ he can do.

She even tastes expensive.

"Oh, yeah..." She has to have one leg braced somewhere because only one thigh is smashed up against his head and he can still hear her moaning and panting. A hand in his hair shows him where to go and he's more than happy to take direction.

Right, then left, then up, then back off the clit.

She shudders and squeaks in the cutest way when he uses his fingers to hold her open and just _breathes_ on her.

He stays down there, lips and tongue and fingers alternating and learning how to make her squeal and sigh and pull him tighter with the one leg thrown over his shoulder. It's only when the hand in his hair's tugs sharpen and start to hurt that he's crawling back up over her, knees on the floor and braced to push back inside.

"Hi, there, stranger." She's flushed from the roots of her hair down to the tips of her breasts, glowing with sweat and lust; the picture-perfect wet dream with her hair spread out behind her, and that damn fucking leg is thrown over his hip and she's rocking against him again.

"Hi... god, are you _superhuman_ or something? Because those were some pretty choice moves right there."

She laughs and leans up to lick some of her own wetness off the side of his jaw, and then they're kissing again, and fucking _Christ_ the things she can do with her tongue.

It's a testament to that tongue and her evil powers of distraction that he only notices she's got him back inside her when he hits bottom. They break the kiss and moan at nearly the same moment, but _she's_ the one who brings her hand down, hard, on his ass and clenches with those goddamn kegels, _again_.

"Ride 'em, cowboy. Let's see what you got." Her smirk is glorious and he kind of wants to eat her face because damn. _Damn._

So he does.

Deep, shallow, slow, fast. He kind of loses track of time for awhile because when he's finally groaning and coming with her nails in his back and her heels pressed _firmly_ into the backs of his thighs - he's so going to have marks, and fuck it, he was totally right about those damn shoes, even if he can't actually _see_ them - it could have been an hour or five minutes.

The most surprising part? He's actually _tired_.

"God," he gasps and slumps back, quickly remembering to hold onto the condom because that's just bad sex etiquette otherwise. He blinks at her, watching as she stretches and shifts, unabashedly naked.

And she _still_ hasn't come. She'd won. If it could actually be called _winning_, all told.

"How the hell..?" He manages to pant, watching fascinated, as she runs a thumb over her bare lips, checking for puffiness. Well, that's what he's assuming. She could just be doing something weird and mysteriously female.

"Honey, I'm a girl who can only come once in an eight-hour period, and a really cute waiter took care of me before you even showed up." She's smirking and running a hand through those red waves to straighten or tousle or whatever weird magic women can do with fingers and a pin to get everything _just so_. Hell, she doesn't even have a mirror.

"So this was what..? Just to fuck?"

She stretches, her dress still mostly off, and leans over to kiss him. God help him, it curls his toes, and when he finally pulls back, his fingers are back inside of her and it's only because he needs at _least_ another ten minutes to recover that he isn't hard as a rock.

"Don't fish for compliments when you know how good you are, Tony." She bites his lower lip, hard and pulls his hand out and away with a little moan before then settles back and reaches for her purse. "It's crude."

"Okay. But if I couldn't do anything for you-"

She rolls her eyes and pins him with a look that makes him want to blush. _Blush._ "You did plenty for me. I just didn't come. That didn't mean I didn't have a good time."

He blinks. "All right. Are you sure?"

She just laughs and pulls the straps of her dress up over her shoulders, straightening the top as much as she can, and just like that he can't see her breasts anymore. He pouts.

"Don't get dressed on my account. We can always go back to my house and try for round two."

"I don't think so. We're here." She smirks and reaches over to scratch through his goatee. It's a strange sensation but not all together unpleasant. It's also, probably, the most intimate thing she's done to him. Which. He shakes his head and lets the thought go.

"We could always try and cheat biology? Push the envelope?" It slips out before he can shut his mouth. It's not the words that bother him, but the hopeful tone. This _interlude_ doesn't exactly mean anything - yet - but he likes this woman. Likes her lust and her body and the teasing that's coming now.

Her eyes go soft for a second and it's a striking change from what's come before. She's a knockout, for sure, but with that look... He notices the freckles then. A light dusting across the bridge of her nose and her cheeks. His breath catches a little, and he doesn't know why.

She just shakes her head, kisses him hard, and pops the back door.

He makes no move to cover up. Luckily, the landscape visible outside the door is residential and quiet, otherwise someone would have gotten a really interesting show. Apparently, they'd been on their way to a specific somewhere - he hadn't really noticed what she'd told Happy when they'd slid into the back earlier - and now they're here. She hops out quickly, pushing her skirt down as she exits.

"Don't call me," she throws over her shoulder, straightening a strap of her dress and shaking out her skirt with a wiggle of those _fucking amazing_ hips. Honest to god, he almost whimpers. "I'll call you."

Then she turns, just enough to look over that shoulder and _smirks_. "Maybe."

The car door slams and he's left, destroyed, on the back seat.

"_Fuck._" His voice vicious and amazed and about seventy other things in the empty limo. "I need to marry that woman."

It takes him a whole fifteen minutes to remember he hadn't even asked for her name.


	3. The penthouse

Title: the heave and the hue of the woman on fire (3/5)  
Author: A.j.  
Spoilers: For comicsverse iIron Man/i mythology.  
Warning: It's fairly dark.  
Notes: Huge thanks to besyd and 4persephone for the beta work. This is, for all intents and purposes, Five Places Tony and Pepper Never Had Sex. A possible reaction on Pepper's part.

* * *

3. The penthouse.

There are four people in existence who have full security clearance to enter Tony Stark's New York City penthouse. The layers of defensive systems and AI are some of the most powerful in the world and when he's bored or annoyed he spends hours working on them. Upgrading, tinkering.

Tony, obviously, has full access. James Rhodes – depending on the week and how badly they're fighting at any given moment – is another. Natasha only has clearance because he gets sick of having to replace everything she destroys when she, inevitably, breaks in.

The last person is Pepper. He lies to himself about why that's the case on a daily basis. _She'll never come anyway_, he says. Or doesn't say.

Imagine his surprise when he comes home from a benefit to find her in his hallway, arms folded and glaring at the floor like it personally offended her.

He didn't do anything. Just brushes past her to palm the biometric lock. Murmurs, "You could have gone in." as it swings open to the dark apartment beyond.

She follows him like an angry ghost, clutching her coat and a sheath of papers stapled together in a little bunch.

He knows she's the one who threw the first punch.

He fucks her into the bed with deep, angry strokes. Her nails are scoring up and down his back and he knows he's going to be bloody by the end of this, but he just doesn't care.

This isn't how he imagined sex with Pepper. When he'd imagined it - and he had on a fairly regular basis for longer than he really wants to admit - there'd usually been passion and romance and something like he imagines love to be.

She rips her mouth away from his and bites him, hard, on the ear. The pain is sharp and he bares his teeth at her in return and slams into her hard enough to make her wince and growl at him.

This isn't love. This is hate in it's purest form.

He _hates_ her, and he know for damn sure that it's mutual.

"Fuck.. you..." she pants, digging her fingernails into his ass and pulling him deeper.

He wants to hit her. He's never, ever in his life wanted to hit a woman more than this exact moment. He wants to wipe this _look_ off her face; he wants to rip her to pieces so that the rage and the hatred that are being reflected back at him will cease to exist.

Her divorce papers are scattered across the front entry of the penthouse, as is his sweater and her underwear. There are bite marks on her thighs and he knows he's going to be sporting a black eye tomorrow from that Ming vase.

It's been two years since he'd seen her last. Two years of hating and bitterness that have worked into his life like a cancer. Of remembering the sting of her slap and the _hatred_ in her eyes.

Two years of hating himself because she'd been right. And knowing that out there, somewhere, she was hating him. Pepper Potts _hated_ him.

And had, ultimately, chosen someone else.

He wanted to hurt her like she'd hurt him. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. But he's an asshole - she'd screamed it at him, so it had to be true - and he's tired of carrying this burden. If she's here for her pound of flesh, then he's taking just as much.

He reaches down and rubs her clit, hard. Her head flies back and she screams, but he's damn fucking sure that it isn't with pleasure. Not completely. The vicious slap that follows confirms it, and then he's on his back, staring up at her. She pushes her hips down hard, grinding and bouncing in a way that's just short of painful. Her nails find a new home and he shouts, blacking out a little from the feeling of them scraping over his nipples.

Tony retaliates by gripping her hips hard enough to bruise and holding her perfectly still. She screams again, her newly short hair floating around her face like a demonic halo. And then she's crying.

She's sobbing on top of him, head thrown back. Nearly screaming, she throws her head back and wails at the heavens and it takes everything inside of him not to reach up to her. Out to her.

It will do no good.

He doesn't come. Neither does she.

When she finally blinks the last of the tears away, wipes her streaked, snotty face with the sheet and crawls off of him, he lets her go. She flops next to him, staring away and out the windows. It's snowing outside and bitter, bitter cold. It's New York City in January, and it seems too goddamn fitting.

They're alone up here. Far above the city in his penthouse, closed off by weather and distance and years and loss.

She curls into herself, drawing her knees into her chest and he turns to face her back. The long line of her spine and neck are unfamiliar in the orange glow cast by light pollution and the flurry of snow outside. That, more than everything that's come before, hurts worst.

"Why?" She whispers it, and it's only because of the quiet that he picks it up at all.

"Why what?" He raises a hand, lets it ghost over the curve of her shoulder. He can feel her heat, but he never lets the hand fall. He's not allowed to touch her. Not like this. Not now.

He's not expecting an answer, so he's surprised when she does.

"Why am I _here_?"

There's desolation in her voice, something he's never ever heard from her before. Not even in that terrible week-long period where Happy was _almost_ gone.

Now Happy is gone. The papers in his foyer are proof of that.

_Because we can't be anywhere else._ He won't say it. He can't. Instead, he just lies there, within reach.

When he wakes up, she's gone, and so are her divorce papers.

He still doesn't change the security clearances.


	4. Cyberspace

Title: the heave and the hue of the woman on fire (4/5)  
Author: A.j.  
Rating: M  
Spoilers: For Extremis in _Iron Man_ mythology.  
Notes: Huge thanks to splashthecat, besyd and 4persephone for the beta work. This is, for all intents and purposes, Five Places Tony and Pepper Never Had Sex. A slight shift to the left in terms of 'sex'.

4. Cyberspace.

* * *

The first time it happens, it's an accident.

At least, he hopes so. He doesn't know what to do with the possibility that she _knew_ and looked for exactly the response she got.

He still doesn't know what to do with the fact that she keeps coming back.

&

He doesn't know how to describe it. There really aren't words that can describe this new reality he's living in. Data, _constant_ data that feeds into him, buoying him up and flooding him with information and power. When he'd first opened his eyes out of the Extremis coma, realized that he hadn't, in fact, died, it had almost been too much.

Everything he'd been had been scrubbed clean and _new_. He'd literally been reborn.

Pepper had been online when he'd come out of the coma. He'd _felt_ her; a quirky twisting _flavor_ that will never, ever remind him of anything other than her ever again.

She'd never told him how deep the cyberization implants went. That she could feel the information, let it slip through her mind like water out of a cupped palm.

He'd brushed her data – because there's no other way to describe it in words that aren't real yet – softly, carefully. Happy hadn't been in the ground more than a few months, and it hadn't been right to do anything else.

_Imprinting_, he thinks later, but by then, it had been too late.

&

The first time it happened – _oh,_ not the last – he'd had her running subroutines for him. Some light background checks on a few new S.H.I.E.L.D. agents and some minor data compilation. It was all something that the IT department could have run through over the course of a week, but Pepper had volunteered citing an extra couple of hours and a desire to hang out in the massaging chair he'd foisted on her months before.

He'd been most of the way over the Indian Ocean on a call and had wanted to check up on her. Not because he'd doubted her work, _never_ that, but because he'd missed her. He'll admit it now, months later, but it had only been a half-formed thing at the time. Not even quite a thought.

He'd reached out, just barely, a prick of curiosity in the wide sea of information at the whispering tips of her implants. He'd meant it as an experiment, more than anything. A way for them to communicate in this vast, virgin world that he'd found himself navigating.

She'd noticed him. _Oh_, had she noticed him.

He replays it in his mind sometimes, that first jerking contact that had _her_ on the other end. The surprise and the warmth that blew into his mind, filling his brain – oh, _god_ the information – with color and content and _Pepper_.

It had been like a brick to the spinal column, intense heat and sensation glowing inside his skin and down to his bones, the Extremis under-suit a live-wire of _knowledge_. He felt _her_.

He thinks he remembers calling her name, screaming or moaning or doing _something_ because it had been too much. She'd been inside him; she'd been _everywhere_.

Later, he checked his chronometer. Found out that the entirety of their contact had lasted roughly thirty seconds before she'd noticed him. Before she'd _known._ It had been almost too long. And the worst part?

It hadn't been him that ended it.

_Oh,_ he'd heard/felt/tasted. And then she was gone and he's left with a deep and abiding appreciation for auto pilot and a hard on that hadn't quit until he'd lowered the suit climate by ten degrees.

&

He has never, not _once_ in all the years he's known Pepper Potts, forgotten how beautiful this woman is. Here, in her own domain, surrounded by light, it almost steals his breath. As always, that feeling is chased by a familiar and clawing sense of guilt and loss.

"Pepper."

Twelve hours and a shower later, he'd found her in her office. It'd been a clear day and the light from the early-morning sun had flooded her windows, leaving her awash in golds and reds that are and always had been the backbone of his life.

"Tony."

He'd had no idea what to say. _So, how about that surprising cybersex?_ Not exactly the most tactful opening line.

"I don't know what happened." He doesn't break eye-contact. It's one of the many lessons he's learned in the last, hard years. Where friends and lovers and even beliefs have been pared to the bone and left to cure. He won't, he _can't_, look away. It's a surprise when she meets his gaze calmly. Smiles a little.

"I think I do."

And then she's _there_ again. He hadn't noticed the activated implants, too distracted by her and the light, but along with the dizzying wave of _everything_, he makes them out. Silver against the white of her skin and the curves of her face.

"_Dammit._" He swears, knees weak and head spinning. The undersuit doesn't come out but, apparently, it doesn't matter. His skin is hot and tight and he knows he gasps when his shoulders jerk back, and she's _everywhere_. Color and light and _Pepper_. He still can't look away, just stares over the distance as her eyes narrow and her tongue pokes out to lick along her bottom lip.

He feels them. The softness and wet heat of her tongue on his lips and then he _knows_ because he closes his eyes and just _lunges_.

And he can _feel_ her in the matrices of the Extremis; code and chaos that stream along him. He thinks of dolphins in the sea, nuzzling and gliding. _Playing,_ he things and lets the word melt into her data stream. Feels it in every fiber of himself as she glows and dances around him like she was born for this.

She's inside him again. Playing and tweaking here and there. Concepts or memories brushing through his mind, none his own. Watches a smiling woman offer him/her a spoon with some kind of cake batter on it. Staring out at the dark theater while standing on a stage, heart in his/her throat. Tiny bits of things; photographs, really. Impressions that sink into him like rain into the desert sand.

It's so much that he doesn't actually process it at first. Lets it skim over him, random bits of data in a cascade of warmth and heat and life.

And then it's different.

More.

He's read, often, that the human body's largest erogenous zone is the mind. He also has ample empirical proof, given his varied and somewhat storied romantic history. But he'd never really _known_ it until that instant. That shift.

Because somehow, she's there. Heat and wetness, gliding along him. Over him. Sparks of light and electricity, which is totally wrong but the closest his language center can get to what it feels like. He's vaguely aware of his physical body, can see the outline of Pepper in the distance, slumped and panting in her desk chair, but _that_ place isn't as real as this.

For the first time, he reaches out. Draws her mind and data _to_ him. Taking her and giving back. Lets her finally, _finally_, god, finally, _see_ what's here.

Someone he hadn't known existed until he'd given up everything else.

They burn together.

&

Later, they talked.

"What is this?" Her face close to his own; they'd stretched out in one of the empty VIP quarters near her office. The bed was large and anonymous, but her hair was draped over his hand lying between them.

"I don't know." He'd smiled, reached out and run a shaking finger over the fine line of her eyebrow. "Are we doing this?"

She'd kissed him like it'd been their first time, gentle and sweet but with a promise that he couldn't let himself hold. There'd been too much between them to take it on blind faith. But it'd been there and honest, so he'd opened his mouth and let her in.

He'd never been able to turn her away.

&

It's not an accident anymore.


	5. His desk

Title: the heave and the hue of the woman on fire (5/5)  
Author: A.j.  
Spoilers: For the movie, _Iron Man_. And vague MU knowledge.  
Rating: NC-17.  
Notes: Huge thanks to besyd and Jess for the beta work. This is, for all intents and purposes, Five Places Tony and Pepper Never Had Sex. And we go out on the movieverse. Also, a huge thanks to everyone who's been reading along as I posted this. This is the first multi-part story I've done in _years_, and it's been lovely to have such a positive response. Thank you!

Summary: Tony will never, ever understand women.

5. His desk.

* * *

It takes Tony four years, two mental break downs, a stint in rehab, twenty-three _really _close calls with death, and six kidnappings for him to give up the dream of dating Pepper Potts, much less fucking her.

Much, much later, when she tries to explain the feminine logic behind the whole thing, he makes her pare it down to the absolutely barest explanation possible: him letting her go was exactly what she was waiting for. Him giving up meant that he was willing to let her go to make her happy. Which meant that he was actually thinking about _her_ needs. Her eyes are shining when she leads him through this, lips twitching in amusement and pride that he feels are highly inappropriate. He proves this by taking her over his knee and spanking her until she starts shrieking about reconsidering due to immaturity.

But that's much, _much_ later.

The whole thing, and by 'thing' he means their relationship, takes a left turn after a particularly boring day of work. There had been no emergencies, Iron Man-related or having to do with the company. He'd gotten to all of his meetings on time and even spent lunch geeking out over some desalinization plans with Jenks and Deiter from R&D. He knows Pepper had gone to six or seven meetings herself and finished out the monthly budget reports. All in all, it had been the most normal day either of them had ever had. He thinks he even managed a coffee break.

They're standing in his office, packing up their things and chatting idly about nothing and everything. She's telling him about going up the coast to Monterrey that coming weekend. The guy she's been casually dating had asked her to go away for a romantic weekend, but she'd had plans with Nancy from accounting to go pottery shopping for _ages_, and why did guys get so touchy?

He's laughing by the end of her diatribe, shaking his head and casually finishing up with his memo-initialing. At this point he's used to knowing that _he_ is never going to be the guy trying to puzzle out Pepper's mind, as it applies to dating, and while it hurts, it's good to see her happy. Or, as the case may be, annoyed.

"Well," he says, still smiling and actually _meaning_ it, "don't come down too hard on the guy. I'd want to haul you off, if it was me."

She smiles back at him, half-amused and ready to shoot him down or roll her eyes. But when he doesn't say anything else, just waits for her to respond, something in her face changes.

"What? What's wrong?" Because she's looking at him. _Really_ looking at him, head all tilted and with a look in her eyes that screams speculation and forethought. He pats his face, hoping like hell that he hasn't had an afternoon-snack-lo-mein-noodle stuck to his beard. "Pepper?"

She takes a few steps towards him, abandoning her bag and briefcase on the table she always ends up working at. "You mean that, don't you?"

Tony blinks and mentally rewinds the last few sentences in his head. "That I'd drag you off?"

Pepper drifts to a stop at the edge of his desk, still staring at him like he's a spreadsheet she just can't quite line up in her mind. "That you'd let me go. Without throwing a fit."

He aches. Oh, he aches now. But he can't actually lie to this woman. Not after all the shit he's put her through and had her bail him out of. Moreover, he does mean it. If just so she'll be happy. He just shrugs and nods, resignation probably written in flashing letters across his face. "If it makes you happy, of course I would. It's _you_, Pepper. You deserve the world." And it's stupidly sappy, but honest.

The beaming smile of absolute delight and the instant tears are confusing though. _Really_ confusing. Before he can even process this dramatic _something_, she's across the space between them with one hand wrapped around his tie and grinning like Christmas, Easter, and vacation all came early.

"Um, hi?" He stutters. She's deep inside his personal space, her front damn near pasted to his and she smells amazing. All spicy orange blossom and ginger and other girly things he can't identify but he knows is a scent made specifically for _her_. He breathes her in, because he can't not, and continues to blink at her in stunned shock.

"Hi." Her grin gentles to a smile and her face and eyes go soft in a way he very rarely sees. It's actually jarring because he _knows_ the only time she looks at him like that is when he's injured or devastated or too exhausted to put up much of a fight.

"What's going on?" He asks because it feels like he's been kicked off the Helicarrier without a parachute. Pepper doesn't do this kind of physical contact with him. It's something he doesn't understand, and he's made a life's work out of explaining the unexplainable. Even if just to himself.

"I want to submit an application." She drops her eyes and rubs at the tie she'd been clutching.

"Application?" His voice gets higher at the end of the word and he mentally shakes himself. "What are you talking about?"

"Mmm." Pepper pulls the tie out of his jacket and starts to play with the ends. "I seem to recall an offer several years ago. Something about there being an opening with you."

"What?" He's saying that word a lot, but can't help it. God save him from complex women.

Unexpectedly, she raises one of her legs, rubbing her knee rather intently on the outside of his thigh. This is just before she pins him with those huge, blue eyes and the lustiest stare he's ever seen. And he's including that time Rhodey got hopped up on sex pollen.

"Do you still have an opening for a superhero's girlfriend?" And then she drops that titrated-spanish-fly gaze to his lips.

He's not instantly hard. No, it takes a good fifteen seconds along with a quick, but dramatic, replay of nearly every fantasy he's ever had about Pepper Potts and his desk. If he weren't so turned on, he'd be embarrassed by the utterly needy squeak he lets out.

But he remembers that sex pollen and how deeply freaked out Rhodey had been afterwards. How the man hadn't really been able to look him in the eye for nearly three months and considering how often Tony is, and _needs_ to be, in Pepper's personal space... well. He can't afford to pin his hopes on a 'sudden realization'.

"Pepper." His hands come down on her shoulders and he pushes her back, just enough to look her in the eye. "What's going _on?_"

She answers him with a question. "Tony. How long has it been since your last drink?""

He blinks, confused, but answers because she's got him so well trained at this point, he can't _not._ "Two years, thirteen days."

She nods and holds his gaze, her own oddly intense. What she's asking is important. And probably relevant to the conversation. Pepper has never been one to beat around the bush. That's always been more his style. "And how long has it been since your last long-term relationship?"

"Sarah and I broke up six months ago, you know that."

Her hands are warm on his chest as she smoothes the line of the suit she'd just ruffled. "And the last time you had a one-night-stand?"

"Um-" He hesitates not because he doesn't remember – god, he _so_ remembers – but because he knows she won't approve. She's never said anything about his ongoing casual _thing_ with Natasha, but the eye-rolling and the general displeasure usually gave her away.

"Tony."

"Natasha, the night after that explosion in Prague."

Strangely, she smiles at that. Leans in closer. "Three months ago?"

"Yeees?"

"You don't mind that I have plans this weekend?"

Seriously, women confuse the hell out of him. "What the hell? No, it's your vacation time. And you've had it scheduled off for a month and have been haranguing me about _not_ calling you unless Galactus showed up again."

Her hands come up to cup the sides of his face, drawing him forward until they're practically nose to nose. "That's why I think now is a good time for me to submit my application."

He has absolutely no idea what she's talking about. At all. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Apparently, she believes him and his understanding really doesn't matter because as soon as she's done rolling her eyes, she smirks. That evil, _female_ smirk that he had zero experience with prior to his forced march through maturity. Namely, his first real girlfriend. It's a smirk that means she knows _exactly_ what she's doing and has him exactly where she wants him and he better shut up and fall in line, otherwise he's toast.

Her smile grows and she runs a thumb over his eyebrow, grounding him to the here and now. "I. Want. To. Date. You." She looks so happy.

And... that was entirely not what he expected. But that achy little part of his chest that always, _always_ acts up whenever Pepper's within ten feet of him glows and expands like a balloon filled with helium. Possibly hydrogen. He and Pepper have never been all that noble. Or inert.

"Do you mean it?" The gravity of his voice startles him. But then, it really shouldn't. This is _Pepper_. The only person who's never left. The one who's held his hand through the most brutal moments of his life and been there afterwards to help pick up the pieces. "I need to know."

In response, she leans in and kisses him. Warm and gentle, her lips press against his own, and while it's not the best kiss he's ever received, it's one of the sweetest. He doesn't know how long they stand there, lips just pressed together, but it's enough that when her mouth opens and her tongue darts out and runs along his bottom lip, he's ready. Opens his own and, for the very first time, takes her in.

He wants to think poetry about her. Make up something epic and romantic and take her on long walks on the beach or something equally as pastel-colored. But rom-com and Song-of-Solomon-esque poetry has never been _Tony Stark_, so he settles for grabbing her thighs and hauling them up around his hips and shoving their bodies backwards toward his desk.

By the time he settles her on the glass-and-steel monstrosity that the last decorator decided was _trés chic_, her hands are working on the buttons of his jacket and he's got her nicely tailored button-up pulled out of her dress-pants.

"_God._" She hisses when she finally gets the jacket off and starts with his shirts. He's inclined to agree, but he has very, very specific plans for the next half-hour and most of them involve the need to regulate his breathing. He just grunts and hauls her shirt up and over, leaving her hair half out of its bun and her in a white lace bra.

She's grinning at him. It makes him pause, her shirt still dangling from his fingers. She looks _happy_. He doesn't remember the last time he saw her like this. He doesn't know if he's ever seen Pepper this... pleased.

He's pretty sure that he's got a stupid grin plastered all over his face too.

"Hi." He says.

"Hi." She says back.

And then she takes off her bra.

"Goddamn, you have good ideas." He pulls his tie off and dives at her.

She tastes amazing.

Okay, that's a complete and utter lie. She tastes like old coffee and one of the Altoids he knows she stashes in her desk. And not the good chocolate-covered ones – those are only for after Christmas sales, and even though he really, _really_ adores this woman, he knows she's a complete whackjob for only buying 3 candies during after-Christmas sales – but the super-strong rancid ones that last for hours and kill tastebuds. Still, he's put worse things in his mouth, and it's _Pepper_, and yep, there she is. Past the coffee and mint, there's the ginger and the orange blossom or whatever the fuck that is.

And then she sticks her hand down his pants.

His eyes cross. Honest to god. He knows this because they pop open as she wraps her hand around his dick and starts, very lightly, running her nails up and down the underside.

"_Shit,_ you play dirty," he manages to gasp. He hadn't even noticed her getting his belt or zipper open, but yep. He's honestly surprised his pants are staying on his hips at all.

"I know what I want. Why wait?" The evil woman bites her lip, still wet with their combined saliva, before reaching down just a bit lower and palming his balls.

"Which is, apparently, a lack of reciprocity. Up and at 'em Potts. Pants off." He backs up, moaning a little as she gives him a parting squeeze. She hops off the desk while he's digging his wallet, and the condom inside, out of his pocket. He's man enough to admit that he's so distracted watching her breasts bounce that he actually drops his pants.

Not that it matters. He's down to his socks in a matter of seconds and she's not far behind. Well, okay, she's not in socks, she's in his third-favorite pair of heels – the one with ankle strap and the round toes – but whatever, she's _naked_ and perched on his _desk._

It's entirely possible that he whimpers. A little. Maybe.

He has no idea where to start. There's just... He raises and drops his hand, running his eyes over the whole of her. There are small imperfections, a scar on her collarbone and a birthmark under her left breast, and he wants to map each and every one of them.

"God, is that a mole on your hip?" And it's stupid, but then she's laughing and really? He's okay with that.

Braced on one hand, she holds the other out to him, palm up and does a sideways split with her left leg. It's through a very distant tunnel that he hears what she says because _Jesus_. "Put the condom on and you can come find out."

If his fingers shake a little on the package, she doesn't mention it. Possibly – and he allows himself a smirk and an ego boost here – because she's too busy staring at where it's going to go. God knows he's staring at where his dick's going as soon as humanly possible.

Pepper Potts shells out for the Brazilian, apparently.

_Excellent._

"Just so you know," he starts casually, crowding into her and rubbing across her front; his beard aimed to skim the line of her shoulders and neck. "When I manage to drag you back to my house and we have six free hours, I plan on eating you out until you can't actually form words anymore."

She bites his shoulder, hard, causing him to rock into the cradle of her hips. She's wet, gloriously so, and hot and then her fingernails are scoring his back. "Just so you know," she mimics, dragging her nails lower and tickling the top curve of his ass. "I am totally holding you to that promise."

His laugh turns into a gasp and a groan when she reaches behind her, catches one of his hands in hers, pulls it around and pushes his fingers down, down, _down_ to the wet lips of her sex. She shivers, just a little, but holds his eyes and drags out that goddamn, evil grin again.

Her whisper is sex and sin. "Get me ready, Stark."

And then she shows him _exactly_ how he's supposed to go about it.

Gentle is, apparently, the word of the day. Brushing touches to the labia. Up, down, center, _grazing_ of the clit. Tony commits each shift to his memory, comparing it to installing a diode or rerouting a circuit. After the third repetition and a slight improvisation on his part, one that has her squeaking, he's back at her mouth.

The kiss is open-mouthed, wet, and dirty. She's practically purring under his hands and the way she's exploring his hips and ass and the mottled burn scars – a present from The Mandarin – across his kidneys she's got him in damn near the same condition.

It's only when his hips start rocking harder against her knees and she breaks the kiss to lean back on both palms to better let her hips follow the motions of his hand that he finally stills. Looks down at her spread out on his desk.

"You're beautiful," he tells her, meaning the words.

She smiles, eyes a bit teary – and he totally gets her on that score because he's feeling a little teary himself, not that he'll admit it – and wraps her legs around the back of his hips. Guides him inside her.

Their eyes remain locked as he slides in once, twice, before pushing all the way in.

"Hi." He says, again.

"Hi." She repeats. Because that's, apparently, their new couple-thing.

And then he can't do anything but press down and in and keep going because it's all he can do.

She's not the only woman he's ever wanted. She's not even the only woman he's ever loved. But she is the only one who's ever waited, even passively, for him.

And really? That's kind of everything.

Her hips roll against his, taking his thrusts and giving back as hard as she can in return. The whole thing is glorious and sweaty, and then she's sitting up and got her arms wrapped around him and they're kissing again. She's plastered against him and holding on like she's never, ever going to let go. This is a good thing because he's pretty sure that he's never going to let her.

She comes, gasping, against him, twitching and shuddering like he doesn't even know, and it's then, with her whimpering his name, that he lets go. It feels like falling and flying and fifteen other cliched words, but he doesn't care because it's him and Pepper and that's more than he'd come to expect.

When his brain realigns – and it takes a lot longer than he wants to admit; he's _experienced_, dammit – their foreheads are smashed together and they're both heaving in the same air. All he can see is the blush spread across her cheeks and the outline of her breasts. He's still inside her and has to take a few seconds to let the fuzziness on the edges of his vision settle down.

"You know we just had sex on my desk, right?"

She snickers and he feels her nod. "Me and my ass are very aware, thank you."

"Okay. Just making sure."

"Do you want to go to Monterrey this weekend?" Her voice is gruff and growly and that stupid-ass grin is back on his face.

"No. You have plans with Nancy." He kisses the edge of her jaw and the bridge of her nose. "It's on the calendar."

"Mmm." She leans into him, covers the arc reactor with her palm and goes for the column of his neck. He lets her. He gets to smell her hair, after all. "I can come back early on Sunday."

"I'd like that." He closes his eyes, and holds on.

-fin-


End file.
